


Please (Don't Leave Me)

by anneapocalypse



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Fights, Regret, RvB Angst War, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, gendered slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:11:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/pseuds/anneapocalypse
Summary: An RvB Angst War fic, prompted bynogoaway:CT tries to convince South to defect with her, and fails.





	Please (Don't Leave Me)

_I can be so mean when I want to be._  
_I am capable of really anything._  
_I can cut you into pieces when my heart is broken._ _  
_ _Please, don’t leave me._

_-[P!nk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VxsQT6K3eJQ)_

_“You fought with Agent Connecticut the night before her... defection?”_

_“The fuck does that have to do with anything?”_

_“Do you recall anything… significant she may have said to you, regarding her illicit activities?”_

_“She said a lot of shit to me. Nothing that’s any of your goddamn business.”_

 

Connie’s footlocker is still sitting at the end of her empty bunk. South thinks about setting it on fire.

The room still smells like her.

 

No one will talk about what happened in the bunker. The old man doesn’t even chew their asses, just barks some shit about working as a team and kicks them all out of debrief, except Carolina and Tex. If it was any other mission, South could get some kind of pleasure out of knowing Carolina was in there getting ripped a new one, fucking perfect Carolina with her perfect combat scores and her perfect eyeliner, fucking Carolina who’s so perfect she keeps her squad leader position even when she gets bumped down to number two. Fucking Carolina for whom even perfect isn’t good enough.

If it were any other mission. If it were anything but this.

Instead South wants to get hands around one of their throats, slam them against the wall, make them talk. Choke the truth out of them.

Instead they jump to slipspace, and the ship goes cold and silent and South’s new roommate is a bottle of shitty whiskey bought off one of the Betas for credits and cigarettes. Bright and burning on her tongue while the world softens and then melts before her eyes, all the harsh edges going fuzzy.

She pops opens Connie’s footlocker. Everything still reg, toothbrush in a caddy and a few pairs of civies still folded neat. Her datapad sitting on top, the screen smashed in a dark sunburst, off-center.

 

“I can prove it,” Connie said. “I have files. I have evidence.”

“Are you fucking _nuts?_ Forget a court martial, Connie, Jesus Christ, you’re gonna end up in some ONI basement strapped to a chair—”

“I’ve been careful. I’ve covered my tracks—”

“This outfit is loaded with bullshit, I get it, but Con, that’s _every_ outfit. Save your hacking for the fucking Innies.”

“It’s different, South.” Connie’s brown eyes were serious, almost pleading. “Our targets don’t check out. We’ve been attacking civilian targets, _killing_ civilians—”

South snorted, waving both hands in the air. “Ooh, the big bad UNSC, killing civilians! Collateral damage! You’re from the outers, Con, how is that news? In case you hadn’t noticed, the military does shady shit all the time _because we’re trying to save the human race from goddamn eight foot lizard people._ ”

“Then why haven’t we been fighting them?” CT said simply.

“We _will_ be, when we have our implantations—”

“I’m not sure that’s even on the Director’s radar anymore.” Connie held out the datapad. “Please. Just look. Just see what I’ve got, South, please. That’s all I’m asking.”

South took the datapad, tossed it on Connie’s bunk instead. “Sorry if I don’t want to to end up interrogated and rotting in a cell with my brain leaking out my ears.” She took a step forward, putting her hands on Connie’s hips. Connie was so small. Barely 5’3”. And so smart, and sweet, and pretty, it made South’s teeth hurt sometimes.

“Don’t want that for you either,” she said, and pulled Connie close and for a minute Connie held her too and was quiet and that should’ve been the end of it.

And then Connie said, into her shoulder, “I might have to take off.”

_“What?”_

“I have some contacts, I—”

“Connie, you need to let this shit go. Please.”

Connie pressed her face into South’s shoulder, and let her breath out slowly, and said nothing, and that was bad enough.

 

The power light blinks once when South thumbs the on button, but the broken screen stays dark.

She drops the pad back in the footlocker, closes the lid.

Whiskey’s a better roommate.

The room becomes liquid, the floor tilting under her back. She curls up tight on her side, and she still feels like she’s drowning.

 

The lock clicks. The door slides. The room tilts, and South feels untethered from gravity, from reality, from everything. Even from the voice, the hand on her shoulder. “South. South.” And the slightly more frightened, “Ro.”

“Go away,” she says, thickly, into the carpet.

He doesn’t let go.

“It’s gonna be okay, South,” North says quietly. “I know things are hard right now. I know. But it’s gonna be okay.”

Something in her head bursts, right then. Some knot of pent-up fury explodes behind her eyes, an effusion of bright shrapnel sharp and stabbing and _what the fuck does he know about anything being okay._ He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know _anything._

“Go fuck yourself,” she slurs.

“South,” North says, so gently and she hates it, she hates him.

“I hate you,” she gasps, and her face is wet and everything is liquid and she’s drowning, not crying, she would never fucking _cry_ not with York still back there somewhere in the doorway _watching_ with his one eye and his stupid green glowstick, _“I fucking hate you_ , oh my god, just leave me _alone._ ”

 

She wakes up in her bunk. Remembers being hauled off the floor and into bed, the covers pulled over her. There’s a bottle of water on the nightstand. Fucking great. Brother of the year. She remembers screaming at him with everything her drowning lungs and raw throat could muster. Trying weakly to beat him away with her palms.

And then she remembers him leaving, the door closing, the silence.

She wasn’t even that fucking drunk. Not enough to forget anything.

 

Her head’s pounding as she shuffles down the corridor to the mess, the lights stabbing at her eyes. Should’ve waited for the ibuprofen to kick in but she’s already late.

Carolina passes her in the corridor, doesn’t even nod. Like South’s not there. Like she’s invisible. Like nothing’s real anymore.

 

“Hey, South,” York says, “take it easy.”

It starts with that.

He’s eating fucking oatmeal. Same thing Connie always had for breakfast, except she always used to put cinnamon in it. York has fruit or some shit. Who cares. Not South. What does she care about this bitch eating oatmeal.

He won’t stop talking to Delta.

He and North have their AIs out on the table. Talking and skating around and getting in everyone’s face. They’re not _toys_ , South wants to say, everyone’s always making a big deal about how they’re _equipment_ and we have to _care for them_ and then you’ve got them out on the breakfast table fucking around. If South pulled out her shotgun in the mess and started cleaning it, no one would be impressed. It’s annoying, and the constant flashes of light in her peripheral vision are making her head pound.

“Can you put those things away already?” she snaps finally.

“South,” North says.

“South,” she mimics.

“Do you find our presence uncomfortable?” Delta says in his obnoxious monotone.

“I find your presence _unnecessary_. How’s that?”

“Hey, South,” York says, “take it easy.”

Calm down. Take it easy. Simmer down. Chill out.

“Whatever,” she says, and stands up from the table abruptly.

Because if she doesn’t, she’s going to beat York’s fucking face in. She can feel it, clawing its way up from her guts and squeezing her chest tight and she can’t _help_ it. She can’t help it. She can’t stand their voices and the way anyone who gets an AI suddenly doesn’t pay attention to _anything_ else. Even on the battlefield, North talks to Theta now more than he talks to his goddamn squad.

Like no one else is even there.

It’s not that. Maybe it is. She can’t tell anymore. Everything feels like too much and all at once and she wants to throttle someone but she doesn’t know who. Even at her most furious she doesn’t _actually_ want to hurt North, at least not that much. And she doesn’t _actually_ want to pummel the dumb locksmith’s face to a pulp, if only because North likes him and North would be upset and

that’s the thing. She does care if other people are upset.

 _She_ gets upset and everyone tells her to calm down, take it easy, dial it back.

 

Wyoming is blocking the coffee pot. Steeping his fucking loose-leaf tea.

“Excuse me,” South says wearily.

“One moment,” Wyoming replies coolly.

South sighs. “I just need the coffee.”

“I’ll be through in a moment, mate.”

“Yeah, I’m not your _mate_. And I just need a goddamn cup of coffee.”

Wyoming sniffs and steps aside, gesturing. South grunts and snatches the pot off the burner, pouring a full cup, taking a few swallows black, and filling it again.

Wyoming mutters something under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

South turns toward him. Sets down her cup. “What did you _say._ ”

“Nothing at all that concerns you, mate.”

“I told you, I’m not your _mate_. And if I think it concerns me, then it fucking concerns me. Tell me what you said.”

Wyoming huffs, and looks South directly in the eyes.

“Collect yourself,” he says coolly, picking up his tea mug. “You act a right fool around here. Behave like a bloody child.”

South thinks, for about fifteen seconds, about throwing her hot coffee in his face.

She goes with a nice clean punch instead. Nothing fancy. Just a solid crack to the jaw to make a believer out of him. She’s got an inch or two on Wyoming, but he’s more solid that he looks, for an old fart. Staggers back, his tea goes all over the front of his armor and the mug smashes on the floor, but he stands his ground. Doesn’t throw one back. Instead he rights himself, shakes his head sharply and pinches the tip of his mustache, the shock in his eyes muted by obvious contempt. She half expects him to spit on her.

The whole mess has gone quiet, watching, and South feels a hand on her shoulder. High, near her neck, a long-fingered grip with a warning pinch that stops her in her tracks, keeps her from lashing an elbow back into the taller man’s ribs.

Agent Florida leans over South’s shoulder, murmurs like honey, “How about we all just simmer down here, eh? Nothing to be at each other’s throats about.” At the word _throat_ , his grip tightens ever so slightly, fingers digging into South’s collarbone through the undersuit.

“Take. your. fucking. hands. off me.”

Florida releases his grip, and pats her lightly on the shoulder.

“We all regret what happened to our friend Connecticut,” he says silkily. “Let’s try keeping what’s left of the team intact, shall we?”

Only Florida could make _regret_ sound exactly like _I have absolutely no qualms about strangling you in your sleep with my bare hands._

South shakes her head, resisting the urge to rub her shoulder, as Florida steps around her, giving her a too-broad smile.

 

“She’s dead,” South says, cornering Carolina in the locker room, “isn’t she?”

Carolina blanches. Even her green eyes look oddly pale, almost sick. Sunken, too, like she hasn’t been sleeping. In the corner of her eye, South sees her hand ball into a fist.

“I don’t know,” Carolina says, voice tight as a wire.

“That’s _bullshit._ You do know.”

Carolina’s eyes narrow. “I don’t _know_.” She bites the words out through gritted teeth. “I didn’t _see_ her die, South, so I don’t _know._ ”

South leans in.

“I’m _sick_ of being kept in the dark,” she hisses. Uses every inch of height she has over Carolina. “What do I have to do to get some fucking answers around here, because _nothing_ is making any sense anymore.”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Carolina bites back suddenly, viciously like a cornered animal. “Why don’t you ask our _number one_ , she’s the one who—”

She snaps shut all at once, sucks in a breath through her nose, lunges all at once and shoulders her way past South.

“The one who _what_ ,” South demands, whirling. Carolina moves fast, covering half the distance to the door before South can blink and she’s yelling, almost screaming in the echoey tiled room, “ _What did she do,_ goddamn it, Carolina—”

 

South doesn’t beg for anything. She doesn’t say _sorry_ or _please_ , not for anyone.

But Connie.

Not a _please_ , maybe, not that kind of begging, just a "Jesus, give it to me, shit, Connie, god, you bitch tease just fucking fuck me come on—"

Connie knuckle-deep in her, sucking a mark into her collarbone. Say it for me, baby.

Connie wasn't into being called a bitch anymore than South was into begging. But with South. Yeah. She liked it. Got into it. Got all squirmy against her side, laughed darkly, used her teeth. Good girl.

Good girl.

Good girl whimpered and moaned and swore her ass off when South had a mouthful of her fucking cunt. Connie used to joke that South could eat pussy like it was ice cream and South said yeah, eat too much and you'll numb your goddamn tongue off and they fell on each other in the corridor snickering and Connie dragged her into her room and got four fingers into her before she let her come the first time.

God.

She never told. She hasn’t said one word.

 

“You remember I said I might have to ghost for a while.”

“For a _while?_ What does that _mean_ , it’s not like you can come back if you leave.”

Connie drew in a deep breath. “I know, I… I wouldn’t be. Coming back. I told you I have some contacts...”

“Connie, _please_.”

“Damn it, South. I can’t just—”

“Yes, Con, you _can._ ” South felt herself flailing. Felt her whole world picking up around her like a tornado. The storm she’d felt coming all this time, and she’s in the middle, her stomach churning. “You can let shit go. People do it every day.”

Connie’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So, what. I’m supposed to just go to sleep? Ignore what I know? Pretend it’s not happening?”

“Damn it, Con, I don’t want to _lose you_ over this. I don’t want you disappearing and I never see you again because you’ve been thrown in prison or… Connie, I…” and the words got stuck in her throat, god if only she could’ve just _said it_ , if only it could’ve been the thing that made her stay, “I care about you. I am _begging_ you to let this thing go.”

Connie stared at her. Her big brown eyes and her mousey front teeth, she was so fucking beautiful and so serious and she made everything at the core of South knot up and hurt

and she knew, even before Connie spoke, that she couldn’t stop the storm.

“I can’t,” Connie said simply.

And everything inside her fucking unraveled. Everything she’d been holding together came apart, tangling and tearing.

She yelled. She said the worst things.

Things like, “If you cared about us you’d stop.” Like, “Why can’t you just be happy we’re fucking alive and fighting the fight, we could be a grease spot on a glassed planet but instead we’re here and we have a chance to do something and why isn’t that _good_ enough, Connie? Why isn’t _this_ good enough? Why aren’t _we?”_

It was worse than her worst fights with North, because he _knew_ she didn’t mean it. Or when she did. North knew she was terrible inside, knew she was mean as a snake, and he didn’t care.

North never let it touch him. Not really. She loved him for that, and hated him. Both things were true.

She wanted Connie to listen, but no part of her wanted to hurt Connie.

No part of her hated Connie even a little. No part of her wanted to see Connie’s face look like that, blasted out and breaking with anger and hurt, just _now_ pushed to the point of yelling back. No part of her wanted them to yell and scream at each other like that, wanted to grab Connie’s datapad and hurl it across the room where it smashed against the corner of Connie’s footlocker and the screen spidercracked from side to side.

No part of her wanted to make Connie cry.

She just wanted them to be okay. _Her_ to be okay. (Though part of her isn’t sure which one she wanted more and it still haunts her and wakes her up sick in the middle of the night, wondering how selfish and awful she really is, deep down in there.)

_I didn’t mean it. I meant it. I meant every word._

She just wanted her to stay.

 

She doesn't know when the idea gets into her head, really, that she's going to kill Tex, but it does. It sure as hell does get in there, until it's all she's thinking about. In AI theory class she's thinking about all the places in that shady black armor she could wedge a combat knife. 'Cept she isn't good with knives. Not like Connie is. Was.

Mow the bitch down with a minigun, more like.

God, but South wants to tear that helmet off. And then tear her face off with it. Get a look at it first. Find out what she looks like. Find out what color her eyes are and then make her eat them, _did it feel good when you killed her, were you proud_ and it'll never, ever be enough, not while South still remembers the look in Connie’s eyes the last night she ever saw her.

Every battle drone becomes Tex, black and mechanical.

Every scenario has her voice.

Should be putting in extra sessions. Training harder. You'd think she'd do that more. It's what Carolina would do. Train until she dropped. Didn't help, did it, bitch. Couldn't bring Connecticut home alive. How could you not. How could you stand there and—

South should be training. She's playing a video game in the squad lounge instead, cursing into the headset.

"South."

"Cocksucking fuckwaffling mountain of floppy dicks—"

"South. There are other people in here."

"I swear to god North I will punch you in the dick.”

 

_“Agent South, what do you know about your brother’s relationship with Agent Texas?”_

_“Are you fucking kidding me? They don’t have a ‘relationship.’ That bitch doesn’t have friends.”_

_“I see. You are aware that your brother may have colluded with Agent Texas in illegal activities aboard this ship?”_

_“That’s a fucking lie.”_

 

It’s not a lie.

Everything comes apart. The ship, literally. The squad. Her and North. He steps in between her and Tex, turns his guns on her. She feels the silence in the Pelican after Longshore, the tension in Carolina’s voice in the locker room, the sadness in Connie’s eyes, the crunch of datapad cracking from side to side. All of it, all at once, everything coming together and breaking apart and her vision darkens and there’s no way back.

Nothing is ever going to be the same, ever again. Neither is she.

 

_“Agent South, we have a new assignment for you. You will be cleared for Level One activity. Your brother will not cleared for this level. Do you understand?”_

_She doesn’t say no._


End file.
